


Soul (Refrigerator) Magnets

by notnicorette



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notnicorette/pseuds/notnicorette
Summary: You know that post circulating where the adults are fighting via refrigerator magnets?Blame that.





	Soul (Refrigerator) Magnets

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There's a viral pic of parents fighting via refrigerator magnets "buy more milk---no fuck u" ([see:here](https://twitter.com/notnicorette/status/907778240466563072)) and, of course, my crazy ass immediately thought BELLARKE AS ROOMMATES...so here we are.
> 
> P.S. No matter how hard I try, I apparently can't write just fluff.  
> P.P.S. No matter how hard I try, I apparently can't write anything under 9 million words.
> 
> Here, have 8600 words about milk. Idk what to tell you.
> 
> Title is a play on the amazing Chelsey Reist "soul magnets" tweet. :)

Clarke rolled over, prodding none-too-gently at the touch screen of her phone, trying to make the horrible beeping stop.

Finally succeeding in hitting the ‘off’ button on her alarm, she tossed her phone onto the bed beside her, then stumbled into the bathroom.

Never a morning person, Clarke’s eyes were still half closed by the time she walked out into the kitchen, flicking the switch to turn the coffee pot on.

She leaned heavily against the counter, arms crossed and eyes closed as she waited.

Barely waiting until a cup’s worth of coffee had trickled into the pot, she quickly poured it into her mug before placing the pot back on the burner.

She added a spoonful of sugar, then opened the fridge, clumsily reaching for the milk.

Her hand patted the top shelf, finding the spot where the milk always was…empty.

Forcing her eyes open, she glared into the refrigerator…which was definitely milk-free.

She huffed, closing the door and stirring her coffee angrily as she spared another glare for the refrigerator…and noticed what looked to be a note on the door.

It was spelled out in the refrigerator magnets that Penny played with when she came over to visit her Uncle Bellamy, which was quite often.

Clarke wasn’t sure how or why, since Bellamy seemed to be an asshole a good bit of the time, but his three-year-old niece adored him and he was always the first one to offer his babysitting services anytime Octavia and Lincoln needed them.

Anyway, Penny’s magnets were currently on the fridge, definitely at a height not attainable by a toddler, and Clarke was pretty sure she hadn’t quite mastered spelling yet, anyway.

BUY MORE MILK

Clarke narrowed her eyes as she stared at it, _knowing_ that it hadn’t been there when she’d gone to sleep the night before.

Coincidentally, there had also been milk in the fridge when she’d gone to sleep the night before.

She moved over to the sink, unsurprised to find a giant bowl and a spoon laying in it.

She fumed as she sipped her disgusting coffee, cursing Bellamy and his penchant for eating a gallon of cereal every time he got home from a late shift.

The only thing that stopped her from marching into his room and yelling at him right now was the fact that he was a cop, he worked ridiculous 12-hour shifts that sometimes ended at 3 am, and she respected the hell out of him for putting his life on the line to protect others every day…not that she would ever tell him that, of course.

She would, however, fume silently and let him get some much-deserved sleep.

That didn’t mean that she was going to take this lying down though.

She continued sipping her less-than-pleasing coffee, gathering the letters she needed to leave him a response.

When she was done, she dumped the rest of her drink in the sink, set her empty cup beside his empty cereal bowl, and smirked at her handiwork underneath his on the fridge as she walked out, heading to her bedroom to get ready for work.

 

* * *

 

_5 Hours Later_

It was around noon when Bellamy walked out of his bedroom, scrubbing a hand over his face as he plodded toward the coffee pot, which Clarke had left half full for him, as she always did on the days he worked the overnight shift.

He poured himself a cup, stuck it in the microwave, and turned around to lean against the counter as he waited.

That’s when his eyes landed on the fridge…and the message he barely remembered leaving there sometime in the wee hours of the morning, when he’d been running on nothing but caffeine and Frosted Flakes.

BUY MORE MILK

He quickly saw that Clarke had added a response, also spelled out in children’s refrigerator magnets.

NO FUCK U

He really wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scowl, so he did a bit of both, shaking his head at her temper tantrum.

Honestly, if there was a better example of how ridiculous their relationship often was than a fight, complete with curse words, spelled out in refrigerator magnets…he wasn’t sure what it was.

He and Clarke often had a…tumultuous…relationship, that was for sure. They’d started out enemies, but that had honestly been due to some misunderstandings and some bravado on both their parts, but once they’d realized their mistakes, it had been too hard to just flip their combative relationship to an immediately friendly one.

Plus…fighting with her was kind of… _fun_.

…not that he’d ever tell her that, of course.

He was pretty sure she felt the same way though, given that she seemed to yell at him one minute, finger in his chest and face flushed…and then, ten minutes later, she’d stroll casually into the living room, Chinese menu in hand, toss him a cheeky grin and ask what he wanted for dinner.

They had some sort of weird, semi-reluctant-but-not-really-reluctant roommates/friends thing going on, and it kept him constantly on his toes.

And yeah, there may have been some more-than-platonic feelings developing…at least on his end…and he often realized that he pushed harder…argued longer…said more dickish things…just to keep up appearances.

And sometimes…he couldn’t help but wonder if she did the same thing.

But honestly, this time hadn’t been one of his attempt to rile her.

They took turns going to the grocery store twice a week, and it was up to the person going that day to check their basic supplies like bread, eggs, and MILK, and stock up if necessary.

Yesterday had been Clarke’s turn, and he noticed she’d managed to get eggs, bread, fruit, and multiple containers of the pre-made, microwavable mac-and-cheese she seemed to eat by the gallon-full…but no milk, even though the jug had been less than a quarter full when he pulled it out last night.

But, of course…this was kind of a running thing between them.

He could go through a gallon of milk in just a few days, especially when he worked the night shift.

He would get home around 3:30 or 4 in the morning, exhausted and grumpy and yet feeling inexplicably hungry.

Never in the mood to cook at that hour, he always seemed to bypass making a sandwich or heating up leftovers or anything that required even a little bit of effort, opting instead to pour a good-sized portion of cereal into a bowl, top it with a healthy splash of milk, and call it good.

He ended up doing that two or three times a week, depending on when he had the night shift, plus however much more of it he managed to drink by itself.

Clarke, on the other hand, pretty much detested milk by itself, only using it in her coffee every morning.

So, when it came time for her to do the grocery shopping, she _rarely_ ever came home with a jug of milk unless the previous one had already been discarded.

They’d had the same fight, multiple times.

_“Why can’t you just buy the goddamn milk, Clarke?”_

_“We didn’t need any!”_

_“Well, it’s empty now, so APPARENTLY WE DID!”_

_“It wasn’t on the list, Bellamy! I bought everything you put on the list!”_

_“It’s a_ staple _! We agreed staples don’t need to go on the list!”_

_“Well_ excuse me _for not knowing you were going to pour approximately a metric shit ton on your cereal at 3 am!”_

Some version of the same argument had happened at least every couple weeks for the past year or so, with him always refusing to put milk on the list (because _it was the principle, dammit,_ ) and her almost always refusing to buy more unless they were literally down to their last drop or else already out.

They always bitched and sparred verbally about it for a while, then shot each other side-eyes and dramatic huffs for a while, and then they either did without milk for the next three days, or Bellamy grabbed some on his way home from work the next day.

Honestly, it was ridiculous, but neither of them were willing to back down now.

Last night, when he’d trudged in at 3:45, he’d grabbed his favorite large bowl from the cupboard, dumped a decent amount of Frosted Flakes into it, and then emptied the rest of the milk into it, still coming up a little short.

He shook his head, completely unsurprised to have emptied it and not found a new carton in the fridge, even though Clarke had _just_ gone to the store less than 12 hours prior.

He’d eaten his cereal while he scrolled lazily through Facebook, then put the empty bowl in the sink, preparing to fall into bed within the next three minutes, as soon as he could manage to use the bathroom and remove at least his shoes, pants, and gun belt.

Just before he’d gotten through the kitchen doorway, he’d remembered the milk, looking around for a pen and a piece of paper to leave a note on.

Not finding any, and too tired to go searching another room for some, he grabbed a handful of his niece’s magnets, spelling his message out on the refrigerator door.

He’d collapsed into bed a few minutes later, all thoughts of dairy products far from his mind.

And now, he’d woken up to find that Clarke had indeed seen his message…and left one of her own.

He winced a little when he realized that most of her anger probably came from the fact that she hadn’t had any milk for her coffee this morning.

Honestly, the way she drank it was disgusting, more milk and sugar than a toddler would use, probably, turning it a weird tan color, but she claimed that was the only way she could drink it.

Listen. He wasn’t a complete dick. He would’ve saved her a splash if he’d been cognizant enough to even realize he was emptying the jug before he actually did it.

But now…she’d taken this thing to an entirely new level.

The gauntlet was thrown and he wasn’t about to back down now.

Pigs would fly in a snowy Hell before he’d go buy milk now.

Bellamy smirked at the multicolored, frankly _ridiculous-looking_ argument on the refrigerator door, quickly pulling out his phone and snapping a picture before jumbling the letters back up and sliding them to the bottom half of the door.

Penny was coming over in a few hours so he could have some quality time with his niece on his day off, and while he _was_ eager to help her learn…he did _not_ want the first word she learned to spell to be a four-letter one.

Well, ‘milk’ was probably okay.

‘Fuck’ was decidedly _not_.

 

* * *

 

_3 Hours Later_

Clarke got home from her job teaching art to elementary school students, unable to stop the warm smile that spread across her face as she opened the door…and found Bellamy sitting on the floor with his niece, playing some sort of intricate, toddler-created game with multiple brightly colored horses.

Her smile widened even more when her favorite three-year old in the entire world got up quickly, bounding over and throwing herself into Clarke’s arms.

“Clarke! Clarke! Clarke!” Penny shouted cheerfully, doing her favorite thing, which was to repeat a word…or a name…over and over and over until she ran out of air.

Clarke stood up, the toddler in her arms, waiting with a grin for the impression of a broken record to end.

Penny finally ran out of air, grinning as she leaned back, forcing Clarke to hold on tighter.

But Clarke was prepared for her antics, gripping her tightly. “How’s my favorite little girl? Are you babysitting Uncle Bellamy again?”

Penny nodded, bringing her hands up to clumsily push her long brown hair out of her face.

“Is he behaving himself?” Clarke asked inquisitively.

The little girl shrugged her shoulders. “Auntie Clarke, come play My Little Pony with us!”

Clarke’s smile slipped from her face a little as she felt a pang somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.

Penny occasionally assigned ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’ titles to her parents’ other friends too, but never as frequently as she did Clarke.

She even sometimes referred to Clarke and Bellamy as a duo…’Uncle Bellamy and Auntie Clarke’…and it took Clarke’s mind in directions it should definitely not go.

“Sure, honey,” Clarke managed, trying to smile normally. “Just let me go change first, okay?”

The little girl nodded, but refused to unwrap her legs from around Clarke’s waist.

Clarke, familiar with this antic too, only grinned at Penny as she walked toward Bellamy, prepared to hand her off to her uncle…but her breath caught in her throat when she noticed Bellamy looking at her…at _them_ …with a look on his face she couldn’t quite place.

It was a little bit soft…a little bit sweet…a little bit possessive.

If Clarke didn’t know any better, she’d think his mind was going down that same road hers often wanted to travel.

She cleared her throat, bending over a little so Bellamy could reach up and grab his niece.

“Two seconds!” she promised, heading toward the hallway and her bedroom. “And I get to be Rainbow Dash!” she called over her shoulder.

She made quick work of changing from her dress and flats into leggings and one of the Arkadia Police Academy sweatshirts she’d stolen from Bellamy, piling her hair up in a messy bun for good measure.

She stopped in the kitchen for a bottle of water, smirking as she noticed the messages from this morning were gone…and also noticing that the fridge was still milk free.

She padded back into the living room, sitting on the floor across from Bellamy and pulling Penny into her lap.

When she glanced up, he was still looking at them with… _that look_.

She looked away quickly, grabbing the multicolored pony Penny was handing her and tickling the little girl playfully. “Hey, Penny. You know what I could really go for?” she asked, shooting Bellamy a truly devious grin over the little girl’s head. “Some chocolate milk.”

The three-year-old in her arms soon became a ball of wiggling, jumping, squealing energy, begging her Uncle Bellamy for the good stuff.

Bellamy, meanwhile, was glaring daggers over his niece’s head, although Clarke could’ve sworn she saw the corner of his mouth ticking upward.

It was 20 minutes later, when they were walking a few blocks over to get ice cream from Dairy Queen (the only substitute for chocolate milk that Penny would agree to,) that Clarke wondered who had really won this round.

Cause…sure, Bellamy had to deal with a squealing toddler for a few minutes, and these cones were definitely going to be his treat…

But as she looked down her arm…at the little girl who had insisted on holding both their hands…and then glanced at the man walking beside her, linked to her in a way that made that pang in her chest more predominant…she started to think that maybe she was losing an even bigger battle.

 

* * *

 

_2 Days Later_

Clarke padded sleepily out into the kitchen, yawning as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

It was Saturday, so she’d slept in till almost 11, but that didn’t mean she could function without at least two cups of coffee.

She dumped in some sugar, then opened the fridge…and found the top shelf suspiciously lacking in the milk department.

She narrowed her eyes, glancing around the kitchen and inside the fridge.

There were semi-green bananas sitting on the counter, a pack of chicken breasts on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, and an unopened case of beer sitting underneath the kitchen table, as well as empty grocery bags wadded up behind the trash can, all of which meant that Bellamy had gone to the store early this morning, like he usually did on Saturdays.

Pursing her lips, she opened the drawer in the fridge…a little surprised to find the mac and cheese she’d requested.

She shut the door, glancing at the one-word message she’d left for him last night.

MILK

She was unsurprised to find an answering message from him underneath.

NO

She was still staring at it when he walked in the door a minute later, bringing the bottom of his tank top up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and leaving her with an impressive view of his abs, at least for a moment.

He’d apparently played a few games of basketball with Miller and some of his other work friends, like he usually did on the weekends.

“Morning, Princess,” he said, slightly out of breath from his jog home from the local park, heading toward the fridge.

Clarke didn’t respond, moving only after he got entirely too close and looked at her pointedly.

She stepped back, drinking her unideal cup of coffee as she watched him grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, open it, and drink at least half of it in what looked like, at most, three swallows.

She definitely didn’t take the opportunity to study his chest…or his arms…or the way his throat moved as he swallowed, a thin sheen of sweat covering the strong column.

She didn’t, okay?!   

He finally lowered the bottle, twisting the cap back on and watching her with raised brows, as if he knew exactly what she’d been doing.

Crossing her free arm over her chest, she nodded toward the refrigerator door and the message he’d left her. “Seriously?” she asked.

He shrugged, smirk taking over his face.

They just stared at each other for a minute, in some sort of a silent stand-off, and Clarke meant to glare, really she did, but his smirk was too much to handle and she felt her own lips beginning to twitch.

Turning toward the counter, she huffed as she grabbed the bag of bagels, hoping he hadn’t seen the beginnings of her smile.

She heard him chuckle behind her, then felt his finger poke playfully into her side.

Squealing, she turned around, ready for a fight, but he was already halfway to the door, backing away from her, hands held up placatingly as he grinned mischievously.

They maintained eye contact until he got to the hallway, where he left her with a playful nod and then headed toward the bathroom to shower.

Clarke shook her head, picking up the bagel she’d dropped on the counter and plugging in the toaster.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was searching the fridge for the cream cheese, that she realized she was still grinning like an idiot.

 

* * *

 

_2 Days Later_

Clarke stumbled out into the kitchen, Monday morning being even more painful than most, for obvious reasons.

That was probably why she made her disgusting coffee, drank half of it, and was already halfway through her shower when the empty bowl in the sink finally registered in her sleep-fogged brain.

She paused, hand in the middle of scrubbing the conditioner out of her hair, face scrunched in thought as she tried to process.

It was the same bowl Bellamy always used for cereal. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him use it for anything else.

And he had worked the overnight shift last night.

…but how was he eating cereal with no milk?

She pondered it the rest of the time she was getting ready, even stopping to glance in the trash (without touching it, duh) on her way out the door, to see if Bellamy had gotten a small milk, used it all last night, and thrown it away.

There was nothing incriminating visible in the trash, but that bowl, sitting empty save for a spoon in the sink, was all the evidence she needed.

She may have to wait until he left for work that evening, but she was going to get to the bottom of it.

 

* * *

 

_20 Hours Later_

Bellamy grabbed his favorite bowl from the cupboard, pouring in a ‘metric shit ton of Frosted Flakes,’ as Clarke would call it, and once again thanking his lucky stars that his roommate apparently hadn’t noticed his empty cereal bowl from last night.

He’d been exhausted at 4 am, and it had completely slipped his mind that he should wash it and put it away to hide the ‘evidence’ of his betrayal.

Apparently, Clarke had also been too exhausted to notice it when she got up a few hours later.

Bellamy tiptoed into his room, going to the opposite side of his bed and opening the cooler he’d stashed there a few days ago.

Inside were a few of those reusable freezer packs and a quart of milk.

Bellamy grabbed the milk, dumping some on his cereal and heading back out into the kitchen to eat it.

Look, he knew it was ridiculous, okay?

But he liked his cereal, dammit, and he refused to cave and buy milk for the apartment while he and Clarke were having this stand-off.

So, he would hoard milk in the cooler they usually used to take beer to cook-outs, and he wouldn’t feel even a little bit ashamed about it, thank you very much.

He walked back out into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and absently pulling up his Facebook app, as he often did during his midnight snacks, because what else was there to do when you were exhausted and zombie-like at 4 am except scroll through social media?

He was preoccupied, which is why, even after he put a giant spoonful of cereal in his mouth, it still took him a moment to register that there was something wrong with it.

Namely…that it was… _warm_.

And… _sour_.

And… _terrible_.

He jumped up, barely making it to the sink before he spit it out, quickly rinsing his mouth out with water multiple times.

Confusion marred his features, and he walked purposefully back to his room, wondering if there was something wrong with his cooler.

It had kept the milk cold for days, as long as he kept swapping out the freezer packs, so he wasn’t sure why this time should be any different.

That is…until he opened the cooler, grabbed the freezer packs, which were completely warm, and turned one over to find a post-it note on the bottom, complete with a hand-drawn cartoon character that looked remarkably like his roommate.

In the drawing, she was winking cheekily.

He huffed in annoyance, honestly not sure whether to be angry or impressed which, honestly, that was how he felt about her most of the time.

He took the milk, cooler, and ice packs to the kitchen, dumping the spoiled milk down the drain (along with what was in his cereal bowl) and leaving everything else on the kitchen table.

Then, he grabbed a beer to take to bed with him, because heaven knew, he needed something to get that horrible taste out of his mouth.

Shutting the refrigerator door, beer in hand, he smirked as he left his roommate that he was equally infuriated and enamored with a message.

 

* * *

  

_3 Hours Later_

As usual, Clarke got reluctantly out of bed, immediately heading for the kitchen and the promise of warm caffeine to make her a little less miserable.

She flicked the switch on the coffee maker, then turned around to wait, eyes casually going to the table on their half-asleep perusal of the kitchen.

The corner of her mouth crept upward when she saw the cooler and the thawed freezer packs, and the memory of what she’d done the day before came flooding back to her.

As she remembered sneaking into Bellamy’s room once he’d left for work, finding his stash, and switching out the frozen packs for warm ones, she started chuckling, and when she turned, finding a note from her roommate on the refrigerator door (spelled out in refrigerator magnets, of course,) she couldn’t help the outright guffaw that escaped her.

HATE U

She was still chuckling when Bellamy stumbled into the kitchen a minute later, clearly having been woken by her shout of laughter.

He blinked blearily at her, looking around to see if anything was wrong.

When he looked at the cooler, and the fridge, everything seemed to come back to him, and he scowled at her, which only made her laugh harder.

“Something wrong?” she asked innocently between chuckles, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“Fucking disgusting,” he muttered, turning around and walking back into his room.

Clarke watched him go, still chuckling to herself (and silently patting herself on the back) as she had her coffee and left Bellamy a response.

GOOD

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was on her way to the bathroom and passed his door, which he’d accidentally left open, that she couldn’t help but stop for a moment to stare at him, where he’d clearly flopped face-down on his bed, arms and legs spread in all directions.

It made that stupid flutter in her stomach take off again, and she again realized she was in so far over her head.

Because when he’d been standing in the kitchen, looking like he wanted to murder her, all she could think was that he was adorable (and also somehow irresistibly sexy) with his sleep rumpled hair and his grumpy mumbling, and honestly, she wanted to call in sick and go back to bed with him.

It was that realization that made her take a chance, going back to the kitchen to change her response to his magnet message.

 

* * *

  

_5 Hours Later_

Bellamy walked into the kitchen, scrubbing a hand over his face.

One tended to not have a very restful sleep when one was woken, mid REM, to the sound of their roommate cackling like a banshee.

Honestly though, it was hard to stay mad whenever he’d stumbled into the kitchen to find her practically doubled over in laughter, looking adorable and sleepy, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

It had taken every ounce of will-power he had not to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to bed with him.

He popped a mug of coffee in the microwave, then turned around to see if she’d left him a response.

The second his eyes landed on it, he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.

Because there, under his message, was a response that made his heart beat entirely too fast.

LOVE U 2

 

* * *

  

_2 Days Later_

Clarke walked into the kitchen, stopping short at the magnet on the fridge.

Because, while there were a ton of letters and numbers and even a comma and a period that regularly made their home on the fridge, there had never been…a princess crown.

But there one was, all purple and yellow, obviously meant for a child…and Bellamy must’ve _ordered_ it especially for her.

He did insist on calling her ‘Princess,’ after all.

And its implication was clear as day, stuck on the fridge where they’d been having their magnet fight for weeks now.

It might as well have had a side eye emoji after it, for how much sarcasm and exasperation she could read in it.

Because yes, she had gone to the store earlier, and no, she hadn’t gotten any milk.

But he’d clearly ordered this days ago, _knowing_ that she wouldn’t, and honestly, it made her breathe a sigh of relief.

After the message she’d left, they’d actually missed each other for the most part, her being stuck at school for parent-teacher conferences for two nights in a row and him working the overnight shift most of the week.

Her message, which _had_ been facetious, nevertheless had a hint of truth to it, and she’d been terrified she’d scared him away.

She’d reasoned with herself, over and over again, that it was something friends said to each other all the time in a joking manner, especially when they were insulting each other.

In fact, she’d had a conversation with Raven not too long ago that went something like:

_“Nice boyfriend, Reyes,” she’d said, nodding at Wick, who Raven was pointedly ignoring._

_“Go take a flying leap into a dry lake, Griffin.”_

_“Love you too, bestie.”_

And that was fine.

That was a testament to their friendship.

But Clarke and Bellamy…they weren’t really those kind of friends.

There was a hint of too much truth in those words for them to be altogether flippant.

Honestly, she wished she could’ve seen his face when he first saw them.

But then, a couple days had passed without a response, or without any word from him the couple times she did see him, and she’d worried that she’d freaked him out.

But now…the princess magnet on the fridge had taken them clearly back into teasing insult mode, which meant he hadn’t seen her message as anything other than a joke.

That was for the best, she decided, pulling up the Amazon app on her phone.

Jokes and insults…those, she could do.

 

* * *

 

_3 Days Later_

Bellamy walked into the kitchen to get a beer, extremely glad he was done with work and done with his errands for the day, and he planned on lounging on the couch with something ridiculous on Netflix for the rest of the night.

He stopped when he saw the new magnet making its home on the fridge, chuckling when he saw Clarke come into the doorway and lean against it, smirk on her face.

“Seriously?” he asked, laughing.

Because although he’d just carried the groceries in 20 minutes ago, somehow Clarke had already noticed that there was no milk and she’d responded to his crown message with an object…or maybe an emoji…of her own.

An eggplant.

Its meaning was more than clear, and he had to admire her for finding a creative way to call him a dick in refrigerator magnet shorthand.

“This is ridiculous,” he told her, although he knew it lost most of its heat when he was smiling like such an idiot.

Luckily, her expression pretty much matched his. “Yes, it is,” she responded, eyes twinkling.

He shook his head, grabbing two beers. “Netflix?” he asked, handing her one of them, still looking at her in a way he was entirely sure he wasn’t supposed to be looking at her…all fondness and warmth.

“Netflix,” she agreed, her fingers brushing unnecessarily against his as she accepted the bottle from him, and he could’ve sworn she was looking at him the same way.

 

* * *

  

_5 Days Later_

Clarke had been sitting on her bed, binging a post-apocalyptic teen show that was actually pretty good (aside from the beginning of season three, _what the fuck was that?!_ ) as she painted her toenails a ridiculous electric blue color, and she’d been vaguely aware that it was getting rather late, but she hadn’t thought much of it since it was Friday night and she was free from responsibility for the next two days.

She didn’t realize just _how late_ it was, however, until she heard Bellamy come in.

He was trying to be quiet, that she knew, but she could still hear the soft thump of the door shutting and locking, and then his slow footsteps as he walked through the living room and into the kitchen, followed by the sound of a few cupboards and drawers opening and closing.

Clarke probably _should_ shut her laptop, slide under the covers, and call it a night, but…well…

She’d missed him.

She paused the show, sliding off her bed and padding gently to her door, opening it and going out into the hallway, then just a few feet into the kitchen doorway.

That was where she found him, his back to her as he stood at the counter, his shoulders slumped in clear exhaustion as he just stood there, holding a butter knife, two pieces of bread on a plate in front of him and the jar of peanut butter sitting beside it.

She waited for a minute, but he stood stock still, seemingly zoned out.

Not wanting to scare him, she coughed gently. “Bell?” she said, walking slowly toward him.

He jumped a bit at the sound of her voice, snapping out of his trance and smiling at her, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey. What are you doing up?” he asked, reaching for the peanut butter.

She moved up beside him, concern evident all over her face and in her voice as she put her hand on his back, rubbing gently. “I was binging and painting my toenails,” she admitted softly, taking in the exhaustion and weariness he was wearing like a shroud. “Are you okay?”

She wondered, for a second, if this was too personal…if her proximity and her touch were too much.

After all…they weren’t really _that kind_ of friends.

But he just closed his eyes, leaning into her a bit and letting loose a sigh that made her want to wrap him up in her arms.

“I’m just tired,” he said quietly, finally opening his eyes and starting to put the knife in the peanut butter.

“You’re more than just tired,” she insisted.

He sighed again, picking up one piece of bread and slowly (and a bit clumsily) smearing it with peanut butter. “I had one perp take a swing at me and another made me chase him through the goddamn woods, and then I had to hold a little girl that was around Penny’s age while she screamed for her mother, who Miller was busy giving Narcan cause she’d OD’d in the Wendy’s parking lot,” he admitted in a monotone, tossing the bread back on the plate. “I’m just…I’m fucking _tired._ ”

Clarke felt a tightness in the back of her throat, and what came next was pure instinct, no thought required, as she took the knife out of his hand, placing it on the plate, and slid into the circle of his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and nestling her head into his chest.

He stayed stock still for a moment, then all the air seemed to drain out of him as he returned her embrace, wrapping his arms around her, one hand tangling in her hair as he buried his nose in the side of her neck.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but she could feel her heart cracking open, centimeter by centimeter, until the tiny bit that had continued to think she wasn’t in love with him finally admitted the truth.

Because she didn’t just want to lick his abs.

She didn’t just want to fight with him via refrigerator magnets.

She also wanted to pull him into her room and hold him until he fell asleep.

But, honestly, that wasn’t really something she could deal with at 3 in the morning.

She slowly released her hold on him and, if she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he released her a little reluctantly too.

“Go sit down,” she told him.

“But I…” he started, gesturing half-heartedly at the food in front of him.

“I’ll make it,” she insisted, squeezing his hand briefly before giving him a gentle shove toward the table. “Do you want honey or jelly?” she asked, picking up the knife.

Yeah, she felt a little guilty that he had to put more work into making his middle of the night snack because there wasn’t any milk, but honestly, she would’ve offered to pour a gallon of milk on an entire box of Frosted Flakes for him right now if that had been an option, because this need to take care of him was kind of staggeringly overpowering.

By the time she’d made him his sandwich, (with blueberry jelly, of course,) he was slumped against the table, head resting on his hands.

She set the plate on the table in front of him, along with a glass of water, and she couldn’t really help the fact that her hand reached out to rub his shoulder gently as she stood beside his chair.

He again leaned into it, another sigh seemingly saying that she was relieving a bit of his burden, just by being there.

“Nice toes,” he commented, a hint of a smile in his voice for the first time that night.

Clarke glanced down in surprise, noticing that her electric blue toenails were clearly visible as she stood beside him and his head was tilted downward. She barely remembered mentioning it to him.

Weirdly, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing another chair and moving it right beside Bellamy’s. “Want some company while you eat?” she asked.

He nodded, so she sat down, pulling up Netflix on her phone while he picked up his sandwich.

“You can go ahead with whatever you were binging. I’m half asleep anyway,” he mumbled around his PB&J.

Clarke glanced at the refrigerator, at the last messages they’d left for each other.

His had said:

GO

BUY

MILK

FFS

And she’d so cleverly responded with:

GO

(EGGPLANT)

URSELF

It had been funny…they’d both laughed at it…but if her comment about her nail polish seemed like a lifetime ago, their last magnet fight seemed like eons ago.

“No, I…you should really start it from the beginning. It’s all about…how the relationship between the two main characters changes over time. It’s kind of…It’s kind of the key to everything,” she admitted softly.

He just nodded, although he was watching her closely, and she just smiled softly at him before she brought up Friends, figuring that a good laugh would do him a world of good.

But honestly, she wasn’t sure either of them really watched it.

It was more background noise as he slowly ate his sandwich and she went back to rubbing his back, eventually leaning her head on his shoulder, the need to get closer to him too hard to ignore.

They waited until the credits rolled before they both stood up, smiling a little shyly at each other as they separated and headed into their respective rooms.

 

* * *

 

 

_10 Hours Later_

Bellamy walked into the kitchen to find three different kinds of cereal bars on the counter, including blueberry, which was his favorite.

 

* * *

  

_1 Day Later_

Clarke opened the fridge to find French Vanilla and Mocha creamer inside.

 

* * *

 

 

_1 Week Later_

Clarke walked into the kitchen to heat up something for a late lunch, surprised to see a new message on the refrigerator.

The old one had stayed up for a while, neither of them changing it or taking it down.

In fact, the last week had been a little…odd.

It was as if they were both a little thrown by what happened that night in the kitchen, unsure of what to do or where to go from there.

Clarke knew where she wanted to go, but she really had no idea if he wanted the same thing.

After all, what she felt in her soul as a need to comfort a man she was falling in love with could have easily been just a soft shoulder to metaphorically cry on for him.

But now…looking at the message he’d apparently left her before he’d headed to work an hour ago…she wasn’t so sure.

She studied it over and over, almost afraid to let the implications of it sink in.

She even pulled out her phone, scrolling back until she found the picture she’d taken of their last messages, making sure that her last message to him had, in fact, been:

GO

(EGGPLANT)

URSELF

And it had…which made his new message all the more interesting.

I’D RATHER U DID

She lost track of how long she stood there, staring at it, trying to gauge its meaning.

Was it a joke?

Was he just being crass?

Or was it…more than that?

Eventually, she snapped a picture of it, then jumbled the letters back up.

Raven was coming over for margaritas and potentially lethal amounts of chips and queso, and she did _not_ want to have to explain to her best friend whatever the hell was going on on her refrigerator…or with her roommate.

 

* * *

  

_3 Days Later_

Bellamy walked into the apartment a bit dejectedly, worried that he’d ruined everything.

The other night had seemed so special…so… _intimate_ …and he’d spent almost a week debating how he should try to tell Clarke how he felt about her.

He wanted to ask her on a date.

No, scratch that…he wanted to tell her he was falling for her.

But either of those options came with the chance of rejection.

And it wasn’t just that he was worried about his ego.

He was even more worried about their friendship.

Because the thought of her being uncomfortable around him or wanting to distance herself from him…that made his chest hurt even more than the thought of her saying she wasn’t interested in him romantically.

And maybe…the night that had meant so much to him…the night that seemed to further their bond even more…maybe that had just been her being a compassionate person and a good roommate.

Hell, maybe it had just been her feeling guilty he didn’t have any milk for his cereal.

So, while he wanted to leave a much more meaningful, much sweeter message…he went with something he could play off as a joke if she seemed uninterested or balked completely.

Hell, she’d told him ‘fuck you’ and even bought an eggplant magnet, so she was clearly fine with sexual innuendo.

If she played his message off as a bad joke…so would he.

But the problem was…she hadn’t reacted to it at all.

He’d come home from work to find his message jumbled back up, and in the few days since, she hadn’t mentioned a thing, even though they had spent a little time together.

He was beginning to think he had crossed a line and in a big way…when he turned the corner into the kitchen and _finally_ saw a response.

He read it three times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

AT LEAST BUY ME DINNER 1ST

His heart started racing in his chest, his mind already adrift with possibilities.

He wanted, so badly, to believe that they were in this together…that she was right there with him…but he couldn’t stop that nagging little voice of doubt in the back of his head that asked…’ _what if she’s just joking?_ ’

 

* * *

 

 

_3 Hours Later_

Bellamy waited nervously, his stomach and his heart both seemingly in his throat as he paced their small apartment, waiting for Clarke to get home from the after-school program she ran once a week.

He thanked all his lucky stars that she was out of the house until almost dinnertime and he’d actually managed to have a day off, for once, because once he’d seen her reply, he couldn’t bring himself to hold off any longer.

So he’d ordered take out from her favorite restaurant, a fancy little Italian restaurant she always wanted to go to on her birthday, and he ordered her favorite meal, and he bought a nice bottle of wine, and he even brought it home, set everything up on the dishes they rarely ever used, and even lit a few candles.

Because this was it.

He was done pretending.

He was done joking.

If she _didn’t_ feel the same way, yeah, he’d be mortified, but he figured this might be the only opportunity he got, and he’d be damned if he was going to waste it.

When she came in the door a few minutes later, looking a little tired and a bit harried and ridiculously beautiful as she set down the tote bags full of art supplies she was carrying, she took in his appearance with a raised eyebrow, because she always came home to find him in sweatpants on his day off, not the dark-wash jeans and button down he was currently wearing.

“You have plans?” she asked, and he didn’t think he imagined the more than casual interest in her voice.

“I hope so,” he responded enigmatically.

She just looked at him in confusion, kicking off her flats.

“I…uh…I know how tired you always are after your after-school art program so I…uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck and he stepped backwards, into the kitchen, waiting for her to follow.

He watched as she stepped inside the kitchen, taking in the chicken parmesan and spaghetti sitting on her plate.

He watched as her eyes moved to the candles, flames dancing merrily, and then, all at once, her eyes shot over to the refrigerator, where her message was still visible.

He watched a smile slide slowly but surely over her face, practically lighting her up as her eyes finally landed back on him.

Even with all that right in front of him…he still couldn’t help but ask, “You weren’t joking, were you? Because I… I mean if you were, it’s fine, but I…”

He stopped when she appeared right in front of him, her hands reaching up to twine themselves around the back of his neck.

“I wasn’t kidding, Bellamy,” she said softly, a hint of a smile on her face as she looked up at him fondly.

His arms wrapped themselves around her waist and he automatically pulled her closer, needing to kiss her more than he needed air, but also needed to make sure she understood how he felt about her. “But I…this isn’t just about…” he floundered a little, overwhelmed by the entire thing and the fact that she was standing in his arms, looking very much like she wanted to kiss him. “This isn’t just about…eggplanting,” he finished lamely.

“Did you just…” she laughed, watching as a blush spread slowly over his freckled cheeks. “Did you just use ‘eggplanting’ as a verb?!” she asked incredulously.

He huffed, starting to pull away a little, but she immediately pulled him back. “I just didn’t want you to think it was just about… _that_ ,” he said pointedly, his cheeks still pink. “I just didn’t know how to go from telling you to buy milk to telling you I think I’m falling for you.”

She finally stopped chuckling, an incredibly sweet smile on her face as she stood on her tiptoes, her lips just inches from his. “Just like this, Bell. You tell me just like this,” she whispered, her lips finally pressing against his.

 

* * *

  

_5 Hours Later_

It was almost midnight, which made whatever the hell they were doing all the more ridiculous, but Clarke had gamely taken the hoodie Bellamy tossed at her, slipping it on with a pair of leggings and grabbing her wallet when he said to.

She replayed the last few hours in her mind as he led her to his truck, her hand grasped warmly in his the entire way.

Their first kiss a few hours ago had quickly turned into their second, and before she’d known how they’d even gotten there, they were in her bedroom, clothes flying and dinner long forgotten.

They’d eventually reheated their dinner, then they’d gone back to her bedroom for round two.

Well, technically, round two had been in the kitchen, so it was round _three_ in the bedroom.

Afterwards, Clarke had dozed off, wanting nothing more than to curl up with Bellamy and sleep like the dead, which was why she was a little flummoxed as to why the hell he’d made her get dressed and where the hell he was taking her in the middle of the night.

She couldn’t stop the delighted chuckle that escaped her lips when she saw him turn into the grocery store a few minutes later.

He just grinned playfully back at her as he tugged her inside, then to the dairy section.

It took them three times as long as it should have, since they kept stopping to make-out in different aisles of the nearly deserted grocery store, but they finally managed to grab a jug of milk, then make it to the one open cash register.

The teenaged boy running it looked thoroughly unimpressed as he scanned their one purchase, then stood there waiting while they made a big deal of splitting the cost exactly in half, which had Clarke reaching into the zippered coin purse of her wallet and Bellamy digging in the pockets of his jeans, trying to find exact change.

The entire time, neither one of them was willing to relinquish their hold on the other, and the minute the boy handed them their one bag, Bellamy wrapped an arm around Clarke’s shoulders, kissing the top of her head as he led her back out into the chilly night air.

They held hands the entire way home, and Clarke was unable to resist leaning over to press gentle kisses to Bellamy’s jaw as he drove.

By the time they made it back to their apartment parking lot, they were barely able to keep their hands off each other, hands tugging each other close as they kissed against his truck…just inside the security door…in the elevator.

By the time Bellamy unlocked the door to their apartment, they were practically tripping over their own feet in their haste to get back to her bed without having to remove their lips from each other.

And when Bellamy took the grocery bag from her hand, blindly setting it on the coffee table, Clarke didn’t even notice, simply taking the opportunity to link both of her hands around the back of his neck.

Needless to say…they let another jug of milk spoil, although neither of them could find it in themselves to be all that upset about it.

 

* * *

 

 

_2 Years Later_

Bellamy fidgeted nervously with his tie, one moment loosening it, so he could breathe a little easier, the next, tightening it so he’d look more presentable.

He checked the table for the 15th time, making sure the chicken parmesan looked okay and the silverware was layed out correctly and the candles were still flickering cheerfully.

Then, he looked at the refrigerator door, where he’d spelled out the most important question he’d ever asked anyone in his life.

He was still staring at the multicolored message when he heard the front door open.

“Bell? You home?” he heard her call out.

“In here!” he responded, then cleared his throat when he realized an entire army of frogs had apparently taken up residence there.

Clarke turned the corner, clearly surprised by the sight of dinner and candles in front of her. Her surprise grew when she took in his tie and the painfully nervous expression on his face.

Then, much as he had the first night, he watched her gaze flit to the refrigerator door, and he watched, almost as if having déjà vu as she again realized what was going on.

He didn’t need to look at the door…he knew what he’d written.

He needed to look at her.

He was fairly sure tears came to her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure, because then she was walking over to the fridge, her back to him as she left her response.

And it made his heart feel entirely too big for his chest, that this woman that he loved more than anything understood how special this was for them.

Yeah, he could’ve done this at a fancy restaurant or on an expensive vacation…but that wasn’t how they’d started.

This was how they’d started, and as she turned back around, launching herself into his arms as indescribably happy tears slid down her cheeks, he knew he didn’t need to check the door for her response…but he couldn’t help it.

WILL YOU MARRY ME?

YES

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Apparently I only write AU one-shots where they tell each other how they feel via household decorations? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
